In a Crowd of Thousands
by CyborgWithGreatHair
Summary: One shot. Two years ago Stephanie disappeared without a trace. While on a shopping trip with his daughter, Ranger spots Steph across the crowd, but when she doesn't respond to her name, he soon discovers that things won't be quite as simple as taking her home to Trenton.
1. Chapter 1

_About a week ago, I opened up my word doc for Over Your Head to continue writing, and decided to put on some music. The song that came on was "In a Crowd of Thousands," from Anastasia the Musical. Before long, my mind had leaped off the Over Your Head train and was wildly pursuing a new story. I had to oblige, otherwise I don't think I would have ever gotten it back on track. Hopefully the endeavour was worth it._

 **In a Crowd of Thousands**

"Isn't that Stephanie Plum?"

I glanced up from the salad I'd been working my way through to see where I was meant to be looking, not really expecting to find the woman in question. She'd been missing for over two years now, and we hadn't had any leads. The chances of randomly finding her in a shopping mall food court were practically zero. Following the direction of Julie's pointed finger, I'd already started forming a denial on my lips when I caught sight of a familiar flounce of outrageously curly hair, shorter than I'd ever seen it, but still unmistakeable, and a pair of ice-blue eyes. I couldn't prevent the audible gasp as I suddenly became aware of that tell-tale tingle at the nape of my neck.

"I'm pretty sure that's Stephanie Plum," Julie added, stuffing another fry in her mouth. "Right?"

Her gaze was just as fixated on the woman as mine was, so she didn't see my slow nod. It was all the answer I was capable at that moment, though, as the words I had been about to utter stuck in my throat. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. This couldn't be happening. How was it that I'd spend hundreds upon thousands of hours searching, scouring the internet and every security feed I had access to across the entire country, interrogating every known associate and enemy and suspect to find her with not even a hint of evidence to point in her direction, and she just happens to be in this very mall, in this very city, in this very state, on the very day I decided to take an afternoon off to take my daughter shopping for a birthday present.

"Steph?" I called, as she paused in her progress through the maze of tables to allow a mother with a pram to pass. She didn't react, so I tried again, louder this time. I know she should have heard me at that volume, but again she showed no outward signs of registering her name called across the food court. Without a second thought, I was on my feet, abandoning the salad and my daughter along with it as I jogged through the people between us. "Stephanie," I practically yelled.

She'd already made it beyond the seating and was walking casually down the wide corridor between shop fronts. Her shoulders didn't stiffen. Her steps didn't falter. She didn't pause to look over her shoulder. Just kept walking.

I increased my speed to catch up and had almost reached her when a loud banging sounded nearby, causing her to shriek and drop into a crouch, covering her head defensively, clearly terrified by the sound. I knew, from a brief flick of my gaze across the way that it was nothing more than a heavy book end being dropped onto the tiled floor. It wasn't a gun shot. There was no danger here.

"You're okay," I murmured, squatting down in front of her and attempting to get her to move her hands. She resisted. "It was only a bookend," I explained. "You're okay."

She appeared to take a deep breath and forced herself to relax, the way I'd seen her do countless times before, and she lowered her hands from her head to looked up at me. Her gaze met mine, the same brilliant blue I'd dreamed of every night for the last two years, but something was off. It was definitely Steph, my Babe, but there was no recognition in her eyes. "Sorry," she said flicking a curl out of her face. "I guess I'm a little jumpy."

"Understandable in this day and age," I replied, somehow managing to get a perfectly formed sentence out of my throat, even though it was restricting with fear for what her blank stare meant. I stood and offered her a hand up, relief washing through me as she accepted it.

"Thanks," she said, flicking that same lock of hair away again when it fell back in her face. "I should get going, I don't want to be late for work… again."

Still shocked by her cool indifference, she had already made it several feet away from me when I managed to come to my senses and follow. I laid a hand on her shoulder to catch her attention, wincing as she flinched away from my touch. As she turned to face me, though, there was a polite smile on her face. "Can I help you?" she asked.

How was I supposed to reply to that? She clearly didn't recognise me, or if she did she'd improved her acting skills a thousand fold in the past two years of her absence. I'd have to play dumb for now to avoid scaring her off, or possibly blowing her cover, if, for whatever reason, there was a reason behind this new development. "I was wondering if you'd be interested in joining me for dinner tonight," I explained carefully. The words felt wrong as they left my lips. I'd never had to ask a woman out like this before. I'd requested dates from Steph before, but it had always been work related, and other women just seemed to throw themselves at me.

She appeared to consider my request for a moment, a small furrow forming between her brows. "I don't get off work until eight," she explained apologetically. "Ma-"

"I don't mind," I replied, almost too quickly. "I'll pick you up from," I glanced at the logo the left breast of her shirt and barely suppressed the grin that threatened to bloom when I recognised it. "the Krispy Kreme at eight," I offered. "There's a nice restaurant just down the street."

The smile that graced her lips was cautious. "I can't go on a date with someone unless I know a few things about them first," she replied. "And I really do need to get to work."

"I'll walk with you," I suggested. "Krispy Kreme is on the other side of the centre. You'll have plenty of time to ask whatever you need to."

She contemplated that for a moment, but eventually gave a short nod and turned back to the direction she'd been heading. Whatever was going on obviously didn't require her to not be seen with me, so I fell into step beside her easily. "First of all," she said, glancing up at me as we walked. "I need to know your name."

"Carlos," I supplied easily.

"Surname?" she prompted.

"Manoso."

Still there was no sign of recognition in her reaction, or lack thereof as the case may be. Her expression remained serene and curious. "Jane," she replied, extending a hand for me to shake. "Jane Smith." A second or so passed once we'd dropped our hands back to our sides, allowing me to wonder about this alias. It wasn't one of her go-tos. Usually, if she wanted to give a fake name, she came up with something a little more original and believable. Or just gave the name of one of her enemies. "Second: I need to know that you have a job."

"Yes," I replied. "I own a private security company that operates in several states across the country."

"Okay," she said. "Are you a felon?"

"I have some marks against my name from when I was young and stupid," I confessed. This was all stuff she already knew, yet her eyebrows rose in surprise at this information, her steps faltering a little.

"I-, uh…" she stammered, rubbing lightly at the right side of her head. "Thank you for being honest?"

We turned a corner and I could see the Krispy Kreme at the end of the way. Our time was running out. "Any more questions?" I prodded.

"Can you drive?"

"Yes."

"Single?"

"Yes."

She nodded, then her eyes clouded. "Any kids?"

"One daughter," I said. "Thirteen years old. Lives with her mother, step father, and two half siblings."

"Okay," she said softly, pausing a few feet away from the entrance to where she apparently worked. I'll see you at eight." The shock I felt must have showed through the careful mask of my expression, because the cautious smile she'd been sporting up until this point turned more genuine, coloured by the amusement she clearly felt. "It was nice meeting you, Carlos," she said as she lifted the counter flap and slipped through, disappearing out the back.

I stood there for longer than was probably appropriate, staring at the doorway where I'd last seen her until a presence beside me drew my attention away.

"That was weird," Julie commented.

"Yes," I agreed.

"Do you really think she didn't recognise you?" she asked.

I shrugged my shoulders, finally turning away from the donut shop. "It's hard to say," I said. "The Stephanie Plum I know would never have been able to pull off that kind of deception so cleanly. But a lot can change in two years. She could be undercover, or-" I couldn't bring myself to finish that thought

Julie made a sound of commiseration. "That's pretty messed up," she commented. "What are you gonna do?"

"Take her to dinner," I said flatly. "And figure out what's going on."

*o*

By eight o'clock, Julie and I had well and truly finished our shopping, I'd dropped her back home and even managed to organise some paperwork for a client meeting I had scheduled first thing in the morning, before heading back to the mall for my date. My date with Stephanie Plum. I shook my head, acknowledging that this would be our first official date. We'd been out to dinner plenty of times, but it was always work related, or there was a strong emphasis on the fact that it wasn't a date, because it was payment for some foolish deal I'd put in place.

I'd deliberately arrived early so I could watch her work. I'd always loved watching her. There was just something about the way her body moved that was calming, and as I leaned against a nearby pillar watching her scrub the counter, I felt the tension I'd been carrying in my shoulders for the last twenty six months easing. By the time she slipped back through the flip top counter, calling a good night over her shoulder to the teenager she'd been working with, I was confident that she would reveal her true self the moment we were out of sight of prying eyes.

"Carlos," she greeted with a smile, pushing that damn tendril of hair away.

"Jane," I replied. "Ready to go?"

She glanced down at her uniform shirt, covered in a light dusting of what was either flour or powdered sugar. "I need to make a quick stop to get a new shirt," she said. "I tried to stay clean, but it's not really my strong suit. And I didn't bring a spare today because I wasn't expecting to, well, you know," she finished lamely gesturing between us. "I won't be a minute."

"There's no need to change on my account," I assured her. I'd certainly seen her in worse states.

"But you said we were going to a nice restaurant," she pointed out. "I doubt they'll let me in like this."

"They'll let you in," I said. I'd make sure of it. "Don't worry."

She shook her head. "I'd still feel better if I changed."

I smiled softly. There weren't a lot of things I wouldn't do for Stephanie Plum. "Then let's go find you a new shirt," I suggested.

She made me wait outside of Macy's as she ducked inside, returning less than five minutes later with a bag and indicating that she was going to the nearby ladies' room to change. I barely had time to contemplate how quickly she'd managed to make decisions in the face of clothes, when she in front of me once more, a flowing blue blouse, and clean jeans. I glanced down, noticing that a pair of plain black flats had replaced the sneakers she'd worn previously. She'd managed to find and buy and entirely new outfit in a matter of minutes. I was suitably dumbfounded.

"Is this okay?" she asked nervously when I continued to stare.

"Perfect," I confirmed without hesitation. "Shall we?" I offered my arm, but she paused, staring at it. It wasn't a normal gesture in this day and age, not that it had ever stopped me with Steph. As she frowned, I lowered the offending arm and swept the other in the direction we would be walking in. "So," I started. "Do you mind if I take a turn asking some questions?"

"I guess," she shrugged.

"Are you single?"

She scoffed. "I wouldn't be going on this date with you if I weren't single," she admonished. "I have a few more morals than that."

I nodded my approval. "How about kids?"

"Not last time I checked."

"How's your criminal record looking?"

"These are my questions," she pointed out, rather than answer.

I smiled. "They are," I confirmed. "Turnabout's fair play, Babe."

Her face scrunched up at my use of the affectionate nickname, but she didn't tell me not to call her it, which is more than I can say for Morelli and his penchant for calling her Cupcake. She'd even protested it while they were actually, seriously dating. "So are you a felon?" I repeated when the silence had stretched between us for about a minute.

"Not as far as I can remember," she said slowly.

The way she worded her answer made my gut clench, but I pushed the feeling of foreboding aside to ask the final question in the list I'd stored away from our earlier conversation. "Can you drive?"

For a moment she just stared at me, a muscle in her jaw ticking, like she was chewing on some kind of retort, but then her expression cleared and she just shook her head. "No," she said.

That was interesting. I knew for a fact that Stephanie Plum _could_ drive. What did that mean for the woman that was currently walking beside me in her skin? Was this some kind of cover? Or was there something more at play here? My instincts were telling me that there was no way Steph would play at not knowing me for this long without sending me a hint that she was just acting. There'd been no such hints displayed, and it was starting to cause a mild panic in the back of my mind. What was wrong? What was she hiding? What had happened?

We reached the restaurant and I quoted my name for the reservation I'd made this afternoon. Neither of us spoke as we were lead to a table in the back corner. I automatically moved to take the side of the table that would position my back to the wall, but paused when I noticed Steph already had her hand on the back of the chair, pulling it out. I travelled my gaze up her arm until I found her eyes.

"Sorry," she murmured, ducking her head a little. "Do you mind if I sit here? I don't like having my back to places. It makes me feel vulnerable."

My curiosity spiked. Was she doing this to test me? Was this the hint I'd been looking for? Or was it something else? Nodding slowly, I retreated to the other side of the table, sinking stiffly into the chair with my back to the restaurant. It felt wrong, but I could handle it for an hour or so. It wasn't always possible to get a back-to-the-wall seat. I'd just have to keep my ears peeled for trouble instead of my eyes. Catching sight of a couple of photo frames on the wall behind her, reflecting the scene behind me well enough that I could keep an eye on things pretty easily, I managed to relax a little. This wasn't so bad. I could work with this.

"Thank you," she muttered as she too took her seat, absently rubbing the side of her head.

"No problem," I assured her.

Before I had a chance to ask or say anything more, a waiter appeared beside the table to take our orders. Neither of us had had time to look at a menu, but that didn't faze Steph. She glanced down at the folder in front of her for a minute and pointed to something almost immediately. "I'll have the lasagne," she announced, confidently. "Hold the side salad."

I tried very hard to suppress the chuckle that bubbled in my throat, but it was impossible. Whatever had happened, she was still Steph. And Steph would never willingly submit herself to consume a salad.

She narrowed her eyes at me. "Are you laughing at me?" she demanded.

"It's just nice to see a woman who's comfortable with what she wants," I said. "You don't need to _pretend to be something you're not_ to impress someone." I'd leaned heavily on the words 'pretend to be something you're not,' in a vain attempt to let her know that I knew it was her and she could drop whatever act this was, but she didn't seem to notice. "I'll have the salmon," I told the waiter. "And I'll have her side salad as well."

Now it was her turn to snort out a laugh. "Good to know you're also willing to go after what you want," she commented as the waiter retreated. "Even though salad isn't a worthy cause."

I just grinned, shooting all her two hundred watts. I'd missed how her laugh felt sweeping through me. Like a surge of electricity zinging all the way to every extremity. She was a breath of fresh air after years of suffocating, even if she wasn't interested in acknowledging our past. My smile sagged a little at that thought. If Steph was really ignoring our history, then she wouldn't have accepted a date with me. There had to be a story here.

"What?" she asked, her brow furrowing. "What is it?"

"You remind me of someone I knew a long time ago," I said.

She sent me a smile then, though it was tainted by the sad look in her eyes. Her hands were on the table, fingering the edges of the cloth napkin, twisting it and flattening it out again. "What happened to them?" she asked without meeting my gaze.

"I don't know," I admitted, honestly. "She just disappeared one day."

Her eyes widened as she continued to stare at the table top, her hand moving to rub the side of her head again. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

The normal reply in this situation between two strangers would be for me to assure her that there was nothing for her to be sorry for. She didn't know the person, so there was nothing she could have done to prevent it. But I couldn't bring myself to lie to her like that. The person _was_ her. And there might very well have been something she could do to prevent her own disappearance. I'd never lied to Stephanie Plum and I wasn't about to start now.

"Babe," I said, reaching across the table to lay a hand on top hers, stilling the movement. "Can you look at me a second?" She hesitated, and I had to wonder whether I was really planning on going through with my plan. When her blue eyed gaze eventually rose to meet mine, though, I knew without a doubt that I had to. I had to get to the bottom of this one way or another. "Do you know who I am?" I asked, holding her gaze firmly, lacing my question with as much meaning as I could.

Unexpectedly, her face scrunched up and she shook her head as she lowered it to her hands. "I'm sorry," she moaned. "I don't. I- I… There's-" she interrupted her own stammering with a sigh, and raised her head to look at me again, tears rimming her eyes. "I knew there was something off when that look of confusion crossed your face when I said I needed to know stuff about someone before I date them. God, I knew this would happen one day. How do we know each other?"

I couldn't speak. She _knew this would happen_? She _knew something was off?_ Was she implying what I thought she was implying. Did she really not know me? I played her words over and over in my head. _How do we know each other? How do we know each other? How do we know each other? How do we know each other?_

"Carlos?" she prompted tentatively.

"We used to work together," I whispered, barely moving my lips. I was shaken. "For years."

"Oh," she said, sounding just as shocked. She was fiddling with the napkin even more now. "We-," she started, but cut herself off. "I-," she tried again, but that didn't seem to be the word she wanted either. I let the silence stretch as she searched for what she needed to say. "You- you know who I am?"

"I do," I confirmed quietly.

"Wh-who," she said, stumbling over the single word. She took a shuddering breath, more moisture appearing along her lower lashes. "Who am I, Carlos?"

Though the lump in my throat was almost choking me, I managed to get a question out, "You don't remember?"

Her head shook slowly from side to side as the tears slid down her cheeks. "No. I don't. Who am I? What's my name?" Her questions were hushed, but urgent as she stared at me with wide watery eyes. I'd never seen her so broken. She'd been beaten and kidnapped and shot at, and come out the other side just as strong and confident as before, but now… now she was likea lost kitten.

"Stephanie," I said quietly. "Your name is Stephanie Michelle Plum."

"Stephanie?" she repeated hesitantly, her breath catching in her throat. "Stephanie," she said again, more confidently. "My name is Stephanie. Stephanie Plum. Hi, I'm Stephanie Plum. You can call me Steph." She smiled a little, but it didn't reach her eyes. Gripping the napkin in one hand, she looked up. "Is Stephanie Plum a friend of yours?"

"Yes," I confirmed. "You are."

"Is she…" she paused, thought about her question, and rephrased. " _Am I_ a good person?"

I couldn't help but chuckle. "The best," I assured her.

At that moment we were presented with our meals. Steph thanked the waiter with a wide smile that was a little too bright given the moisture still making her eyes sparkle. Moving the napkin she'd been torturing from her fist to her lap, she picked up her fork and immediately took a large bite of her lasagne, moaning with her usual appreciation. I allowed her to eat for a few minutes, while I started on my salmon. She was almost done when I decided to ask the question that had been burning the back of my mind since the moment I spotted her across the food court. "What happened?"

Her fork paused in the act of stabbing a cube she'd cut, her shoulders stiffening. "I don't remember," she said, shaking her head. "The first thing I remember is waking up in a hospital bed with, attached to a million tubes and monitors with a bandage around my head and a feeling like I'd been hit by a truck." She stuck the lasagne cube in her mouth and chewed deliberately. "They said I'd been found on the side of the road, in a snow bank. No identification. Nothing to tell them who I was. And no memory of my life before that moment. At least, nothing helpful. The head injury is the most likely cause of my amnesia," she explained. "The nurses took to calling me Jane, since I didn't have a name, and it just kinda stuck."

"Where did they find you?" I asked, needing more information.

"A small town in Maryland," she replied. "Why?"

I took a slow breath to steady myself. "The last time anyone saw you," I explained patiently. "You were leaving an apartment building in Trenton, New Jersey. We were on a job, and you were heading down to the car to get a piece of equipment that had been left behind. You never returned. I had my company searching for you for months without any success. We had the Delaware dredged. You were presumed dead, and I was the last one to see you alive." I paused, wondering whether to tell her the next bit, eventually, I decided that it was better for her to have all the facts than for me to hide the truth from her. "I don't have the cleanest record," I reminded her. "So they made me a prime suspect."

She gasped, her eyes widening even more. "I'm so sorry!" she exclaimed. "I didn't mean to disappear. I didn't mean to cause you so much strife. At least, I don't _think_ I did… I can't remember, but I don't think I would deliberately disappear. Would I be the kind of person to deliberately disappear?"

I shook my head and laid a hand on her forearm. "It's not your fault," I assured her, able to tell her now that I felt certain it wasn't a lie. "You obviously had no control over the situation."

"We assume," she added bitterly.

"How about dessert?" I suggested, trying to distract her. I didn't like the direction her mind was heading and sweets had always been the quickest way to divert her attention. I was not disappointed when her eyes lit up in anticipation. "Let's get out of here," I said. "I know a place nearby that you'll love."

She grinned mischievously, eyes brightening a little, despite the tension I could still see lining her face. "Is it Fireman Derek's?" she asked.

"You know it?"

She rolled her eyes, the first one since I'd spotted her this afternoon. "There's one thing you need to know about me, Carlos," she said. "And that's that I know where all the best places for dessert are. I can find them without any effort at all even if I've never been there before. It's like a sixth sense."

"That doesn't surprise me," I told her. "Let me settle the bill and we'll be on our way."

*o*

"So tell me about yourself," she requested as she tucked into her slice of cheesecake. "What kind of man doesn't eat sweets?"

I shook my head. "I thought you'd want to know more about you, not me."

She shrugged. "Force of habit, I guess," she said. "After two years of not knowing who I am, I kinda resigned myself to the fact that I may never know." Taking another bite, she tilted her head to the side, eyeing me. "Besides, I'm curious how we ended up working together. You said you own a security company, right? Did I work at your company?"

I nodded. "On and off. You were a fugitive apprehension agent for your cousin Vinnie, but when skips were down or bills were due you'd moonlight for me."

A derisive snort expelled from Steph's nose as she set down her fork. "You're kidding right?" she asked. "There's no way I could be a bounty hunter. I'm not fit enough. Never have been."

"You got by well enough."

Sighing, she shook her head a little and picked up the fork again. "You could tell me anything and I'd believe you," she murmured. "Something about you just makes me feel safe."

We spoke for a while longer, trading questions and answers. There was no denying that she got the better end of the deal, learning about both her own forgotten past and about me, while I only asked a few questions about her current life. For example, how, if she had woken up in Maryland, did she end up here in Miami? The answer? She'd grown restless about a year ago and decided on the move by closing her eyes and throwing a dart at a map on the wall. She assured me that it was quite easy to uproot one's entire life when they didn't have any memory tying you to one place or another.

"So tell me how we first met," she requested after some time had passed, and I had every intention to tell her, except her phone started ringing at the very moment I opened my mouth to regale her of the coffee shop experience. "Sorry," she apologised. "It's my roommate. She's probably worried. I was expecting to be home hours ago."

I nodded that she should take it and listened to her assuring the person on the other end that she was fine. Nothing had happened to her except an unexpected date. Having finally placated the roommate, she hung up and returned the phone to her pocket. "I should probably head home," she said. "Thanks for tonight. I've really enjoyed learning about myself."

"It was my pleasure," I said, standing. "I'll walk you back to your car."

She rolled her eyes. "Can't drive, remember?" she reminded me. "So, obviously, I don't have a car."

I shook my head. We were doing a lot of that tonight. I was starting to wonder if I would shake something loose. "But you _can_ drive," I told her. "You-"

"Oh, I know I'm capable of driving," she assured me. "What I mean is that I'm not _allowed_ to drive."

"Why's that?" I asked.

"Did you know that there is a two year exclusion period in the state of Florida if you have a seizure?"

It wasn't exactly a piece of information that I'd needed to know prior, but it did pose a lot of questions now. "You had a seizure?" I questioned, concern tightening my chest.

"Just after I moved here," she confirmed. "It's not uncommon for people who have suffered a traumatic brain injury." She said it so casually. Like a seizure and a traumatic brain injury were no big deal. Nothing to worry about. How much had she been through in the last two years that she could shrug it off so easily. "And because it happened so long after the original injury," she added, grabbing her bag of clothes from under the table and standing. "There's a high chance that I'll have another one in the future."

"I'm sorry, Babe," I murmured, because I had no idea what else I was supposed to say in this situation. Her life had been changed irrevocably, and for once, there was nothing I could do to fix it.

"Don't be," she said firmly. "It's just part of life. I'll have to learn to live with the seizures the same way I've learned to live with this scar and the fact that I'll probably never remember my life before Maryland."

I had to clench my fist to stop myself from delving my fingers into her hair to find the scar hidden there. Instead, I just watched as she rubbed the same spot she'd worried several times over the evening. I wanted to fix things, but there wasn't much I could do for memories and seizures. Following Steph out of the café, I wondered idly if Bobby had any ointments or treatments that could fix a scar. "I'll drive you home," I suggested. That, at least, I could do.

"No need," Steph assured me. "We walked passed my apartment on the way here."

"I'll walk you back, then," I said. And run some recon in the process. There was absolutely no way I was going to let her go after finding her again. I hadn't gotten in contact with anyone about this new development, wanting to get through the evening to scope out what was actually going on before I shared my discovery with anyone, but I had no doubt that the moment anyone back home learned that Steph was still alive, they'd want to know when she'd be coming home, when they could see her, talk to her. They'd want details on what happened. I had to be prepared to answer to the Rangeman inquisition the moment I mentioned her. Not to mention the Burg if I reached out to her parents.

Lucky for me, Steph didn't object to an escort on the way home. It was only a five minute walk, during which time she appeared to grow more serious with every step. She said nothing, which was never a good sign. I'd learned over the years that if Steph was quiet, there was something wrong. It was time to brace myself for what came next. She paused at the entrance to a small apartment building, flicking a wisp of hair out of her face, as she finally looked up at me.

"Carlos," she said hesitantly. "Can I make a request?"

"Babe," I uttered. She should know that I'd do anything for her. I'd never failed her yet and I didn't plan to start now.

Her brow furrowed. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Of course, she had no memory of all the times I'd come through for her. I'd have to be a little more verbose in my replies. Now was the perfect time to start rebuilding the trust we'd once had. "Ask away," I said, simply.

"Well," she started, looking down and rubbing her head yet again. "I was just thinking that the only evidence I have that I am who you say I am is your word, and," she dropped her hand forcefully, but didn't look up. "And I don't know you from a bar of soap. You could be a serial killer for all I know. And, I just don't know if I can-"

"Would it help if I showed you photos?" I asked, cutting her off. I was already pulling out my phone before I'd finished the question. Almost before I'd _started the question._ I understood her concern. She was right to be suspicious. Anyone could have walked up to her off the street and told her some random story about her past, true or not, and she would be none the wiser. She was like a lamb, cut off from her herd and lost in the world. I needed to put her mind at ease and convince her to let me into her life.

"Do you have photos?" she asked, staring at the device in my hand.

"I have some photos."

She stepped closer. "I'd like to see."

Wasting no time, I swiped through to my album and scrolled through two years' worth of photos to the ones I'd used as a visual aid when following up any and all kinds of tenuous leads during the initial search. It was purely by chance that I even had the photos on my device in the first place. Just days before she'd disappeared her phone had gone to heaven along with her latest shitbox car when it exploded out front of one of her skips' houses. I'd handed her my phone to make a call while we waited for emergency services to arrive and she'd taken the opportunity to take a couple of not so secret selfies.

I'd growled at her at the time, vowing to delete them immediately. But hadn't. In fact, I'd saved them to my personal hard drive when I got home that evening. There was just something about her playful smile in the wake of yet another disaster in her life that made me love her a little more.

Tapping the first of the photos she'd taken that day, I turn the phone so she could see more easily as it filled the screen. Her face took up a third of the screen, eyes wide and innocent as she covered her mouth. Behind her, I leaned against the bonnet of the black SUV, arms crossed as I looked toward her, and beyond that you could clearly see the flaming car.

"Is that… a car on fire in the background?" she asked, leaning in to get a closer look.

"Yes."

"We don't seem very concerned," she pointed out. And she was right. Between her own mocking expression and my slight smirk, we did not seem at all worried about the wreckage.

"Your car karma wasn't great," I said, swiping to the next photo. This one showed more of her body, revealing that she was wearing my SEALs cap to cover up the state of her hair. Her blue eyes were squinted almost shut as she grinned widely at the camera. Directly behind her shoulder, I was expressionless, mouth slightly open, mid word. It was one of the only times she'd managed to catch me off guard. And I loved that.

I swiped through the rest of the photos she'd taken. Showing this Stephanie a reverse stop motion of Past-Stephanie's selfie antics.

"Okay," she said after a few moments. "So we really knew each other?" I nodded and she rocked back on her heels. "And you know all about my past?" I nodded again. There wasn't much I didn't know about her. "And you know where I lived? And how my family is? And my friends?" More nodding. "You could, I mean, could you- uh…"

At that exact moment, a window opened in the building above us and blonde hair woman stuck her head out. "You can invite him in, if you want, Jane," she called down. "I know how to make myself scarce. I have three seasons of that clone show to watch, and a pair of the highest quality noise cancelling headphones."

Stephanie groaned. "I'm not inviting him in," she called back, a blush spreading crimson across her cheeks. "We were just saying goodnight."

The blonde rose an eyebrow. "You've been saying goodnight for fifteen minutes now," she said. "Either kiss him and send him on his way, or bring him inside and ride him like a pony."

Another groan. "Jess," she hissed.

The blonde seemed unaffected by Steph's embarrassed irritation. "I'm just saying, you need to seize these opportunities when they arise," she travelled her gaze slowly over me, licking her lips. "And this definitely looks like an opportunity you don't want to pass up."

"I'll be up in a minute," Steph said, glancing back at me. "Alone."

"Shame," Jess said, but retreated back inside anyway.

"Your roommate seems nice," I commented, trying very hard to suppress the grin that wanted to break loose.

"She means well," Steph replied, pinching the bridge of her nose.

"I should let you go before she sticks her head back out and starts throwing condoms at us," I suggested, earning a bark of laughter from Steph.

"I wouldn't put it past her, either," she said and pulled out her keys. She was reaching for the door when she stopped and turned back to me. A moment later her phone was in her hand and she was passing it to me. "Can I get your number?" she rquested.

*o*

Over the next few weeks I spent a lot of time with Steph. We met for breakfast, or dinner, whenever fit into both of our schedules. She was determined to learn everything about her past, and only too happy to have her back in my life, I enabled her as much as I could.

I provided her with a full file on her past self, complete with basic, one-page profiles of her friends and family, including Rangemen she was familiar with. She poured over it all, asking questions and repeating details I'd told her like it was going to be on an exam, which, I suppose if she ever decided to go back to her previous life and her memories failed to return, it would be. I'd had enough experience with the Burg to know that even though word would get around town of her amnesia almost before she'd finished explaining the matter to her parents, they would be offended that she didn't remember them.

I tried hard not to bog her down with these visions of reality. It was already abundantly clear that she was putting too much pressure on herself. Every now and then, a single tear would track down her cheek while she studied the faces in her file. Those moments, I took as my cue to force her to take a break.

We took walks on the beach and I avoided regaling her of the time we'd spent together in Hawaii while she explained that she'd always been drawn to the ocean. It was calming, she'd said. Watching the waves crash against the shore eased her anxiety and washed away her fears.

Nodding knowingly, I'd told her about her trips to the shore in Atlantic City in times of stress. The ocean had always been her happy place.

When she got frustrated enough to swipe her entire file off the table, scattering the pages across the small dining room she shared with her roommate, I'd taken her to the gun range to teach her how to shoot. I talked her through how to breathe with her actions, which served a dual purpose of getting her to calm down and reinforcing the fundamental knowledge of firearms she already had locked away in her head somewhere. We'd been to the range six times in the two months since I'd found her, and I'm pretty sure that was more times than she'd been prior to her disappearance. Past Stephanie had never been fond of her gun and avoided using it at all costs. This Steph was also a bit apprehensive about handling the weapons, but pushed through it with the rationalisation that the better she was with it the safer it would be. The regular practice was definitely paying off as her accuracy and comfort improved every week.

It was on the way back to her apartment after one such session that I received the phone call I'd been dreading since the moment Steph asked for my number that first night.

She'd been mid sentence, telling me about something Jess had done that morning when the chirping had interrupted her, filling the SUV as it cut off the soft classical that had been playing through the sound system. I apologised briefly before tapping the button on the steering wheel to accept the call.

"Yo," I said by way of greeting. Really, it was just a sound to let the person on the other end of the line know that the call had connected and I was listening.

"Jameson's jewellery store on Hamilton was broken into this morning," Tank informed me, cutting straight to the chase, as was my preference. "He's throwing a fit and won't deal with anyone up here. Want's to speak directly with you."

Mentally sighing, I flicked my gaze quickly to Steph before refocusing on the road ahead. I'd have to go back to Trenton and deal with it. Jameson was one of our best customers. If he was demanding an audience with the boss, then an audience with the boss he would get. We couldn't afford to drive him away. "What's the earliest flight you can get me on?" I asked.

"I have a seat reserved for sixteen hundred hours," he said. Efficient. That's why he was my second in command. He knew how I worked and thought ahead. "If that's not enough time, I can change it to later."

The clock on the dash told me it was a little after fourteen hundred hours. Ordinarily, that would have been plenty of time for me to get back to Rangeman and pack single duffle bag I'd travelled with, but as my gaze drifted to Steph once more, I realised that I had a little more baggage than that. "Get me two seats on the later flight," I instructed.

"Two?" Tank questioned, at the same moment Steph's head jerked around to stare at me. It took all of my concentration to ignore her and focus on Tank. I hadn't told anyone, yet, about my curly haired discovery.

"Two seats," I confirmed. "Later flight."

"Why do you need two seats?" he asked.

"I'll explain later." And to prevent any further questions on the subject from _him_ , I hit the button on the steering wheel to hang up. After a moment the classical music resumed, and I tried my best to ignore the fact that Steph was still staring at me open mouthed as I navigated the streets leading to her apartment building.

The silence lasted until I'd put the SUV in park.

"Why do you need two seats?" she asked. I could tell she'd made an effort to stay calm, but the waver in her voice and the way her brows had drawn together, creasing her forehead, gave her away. I had no doubt that she'd guessed who the second seat was for and was currently having an internal freak out.

Taking a deep breath, I dropped my hands to my lap and turned for face her. "I was thinking that it might be a good opportunity for you to visit your home town," I explained patiently. "A file and my answers can only amount to so much."

"But I still don't remember anything," she pointed out.

I took one of her fidgeting hands in mine and squeezed gently, trying to soften the blow of my statement. "And you may never will." It wasn't news to her, it was the odds she'd quoted herself, but hearing it from someone else's lips made it sound more real than when you're just telling yourself the facts to make yourself feel better about having no memories. "Is it really fair to your family that you stay hidden down here while they're still hurting over your disappearance?"

"I don't know my family, so what does it matter?" she said bitterly.

"The Steph I know would never deliberately hurt those she loves," I pointed out.

She crossed wrenched her hand out of my grasp and crossed her arms over her chest, averting her gaze to the back of the building through the windscreen. "That Steph died two years ago with all of her memories," she said.

"I don't think so. The Steph I've gotten to know over the last few weeks isn't so different to the Steph I lost. She's caring, and tenacious, and brave. Stephanie Plum has never backed down from a challenge before, and I personally don't think now is the time to start."

"But what if-"

"Babe," I whispered. "The longer you leave it, the harder it will be to do it. And you never know, being amongst old familiar surroundings may spark something."

She took a deep breath and turned her head away from me. "I don't think I'm ready," she said.

"I'll be there with you every step of the way."

"What about my job?" she protested. "I can't just pick up and leave."

A tiny smile that threatened to tip up the corners of my lips. "Aren't you the one who told me how it is to leave a place behind when you have no memories tying you to a place?"

She huffed. "I did," she agreed. "But I have memories here. I have friends. I have a job. I have an a roommate."

"I'm not suggesting you move back to Trenton right this second, Babe," I explained. "Just take a couple of days. Meet some people you already know. Explore your old haunts. See if anything comes back. You can come back to Miami whenever you want."

"Promise?"

She sounded so uncertain that I had to clench my fists to stop myself from pulling her into my lap. "You have my word," I assured her. "Give Trenton a couple of days, and then just say the word and I'll have you on a plane back to the sun and the sand and Jess."

*o*

"Carlos?"

"Babe?"

"Where are we going?"

I took a moment to concentrate on manoeuvring us onto the off ramp before replying. "Rangeman," I explained patiently. "I have an apartment on the seventh floor of the building my company operates out of."

"Have I been there before?"

"You've been to Rangeman more times than I can count," I assured her. "You used to run searches there, remember?"

"No," she said flatly. "I _don't_ remember. I don't remember anything. You know that."

"I was referring to our study sessions," I told her. "But you have a point."

"Do I know your employees?"

"Some of them."

"Will we run into any of them on the way to your apartment?"

I sighed inwardly. She'd asked so many questions this afternoon that I was almost certain she would have run out by now. Apparently, I once again underestimated Steph's ability to talk her way through her anxiety. "We might," I conceded.

"How much do they know about me?" she asked. "About my, you know, condition?"

"I called Tank while you were packing," I explained, sparing her a longer look as I stopped at a light. "Gave him a cliff notes version. He's warned the men. They shouldn't be a problem."

She nodded. "Okay."

Silence filled the Porsche for a while then and I thought we'd finally assuaged her anxiety. I was proven wrong, though, when she let out a loud sigh. "I just wish I had some small memory," she moaned. "What's it like to be able to remember things that happened when you were a child?"

"My childhood wasn't that great," I informed her. "I was a bit of a delinquent. Constantly caught in someone's crosshairs."

"It can't all be bad," she pressed, shifting in her seat so that she was facing me more fully. "Tell me one of your earliest memories."

How could I refuse a plea like that? A whole part of her life was missing. All she wanted was a story to distract herself from her own lack of memories. I didn't share my past with anyone, though. It was a rule. The wrong piece of information leaked to the public could cause my downfall. "Babe," I groaned.

"Please, Carlos?" she pleaded. "I've told you my earliest memory."

Part of me wanted to tell her about the unfortunate fate of my pet goldfish, just to prove that memories weren't all they were cracked up to be, but I knew I couldn't do that to her. So I took a breath and pulled up one of the memories I'd thought about a million times over the years.

"It was June," I started. "I was eight. I was in Trenton with my parents for this annual parade I'd pestered them about for weeks. We'd never been, but my friends always told me it was the best, so I wanted to go. They'd finally relented and said we could go. I don't even remember what the point of the whole parade was anymore. They stopped doing it not long after.

"It was hot, and Papá had gone to buy ice creams. My brothers were arguing about something or other, pulling Mamá's attention, but I was riveted, watching all the floats go past. We'd arrived pretty late, so we weren't especially close to the barrier. I was standing on the edge of a planter box to get a better view. I was pretty short back then."

I smiled over at Steph, who had pulled her knees up under chin, gazing at me with wide eyes. "What were the floats like?" she asked quietly.

"They were colourful," I said. "Each of the local businesses had put one together. There was one for the deli, the florist, the local car yard, and a bakery. The bakery one was my favourite. They were passing out free donuts."

"But you don't eat sweets," she pointed out.

I couldn't help but smile a little wider. "It wasn't the donuts I was most interested in," I explained. "See, they'd run a competition to find the new face of the bakery. The winner got to wear a crown and a sash and ride on the float sitting in this big throne they'd constructed. They girl they'd selected was only my age, but she sat so straight and tall. Like a queen. I could tell just by looking at her that it was the greatest day of her life. Her shoulders were set, and she'd obviously been told to wave calmly to the thousands of people crowding the streets, and while she managed to keep her face straight for the most part, her feet jiggled in the air as they dangled off the oversized chair. Her excitement called to me. It was infectious.

"The moment I spotted her with her "Little Miss Tasty Pasty" sash and twinkling, ocean-like eyes, I knew I needed to get closer. I started ducking through the crowd, between legs and past prams. At one stage I almost knocked over an old lady with a walking stick, but I didn't care. My entire being was focused on the girl on the float. I had to reach her. It was like my life depended on it. Finally, I made it to the barricade at the edge of the sidewalk, but the float was already passing. Without thinking of consequences, I ducked under the tape and started running. I called out to her as I started to catch up, but my voice was lost in the cheers from the crowd. I reached out, determined to have her look my way, and she looked up. She met my gaze, and her serene demeanour cracked as she smiled."

I sighed, remembering how important the girl had made me feel, how her smile had felt like it was made especially for me. "The parade kept going. I kept staring after her until all I could see was the glare of the sun as she disappeared behind the floats that followed hers."

"The way you tell it makes me feel like I was there too," Steph said wistfully.

I glanced over at her. "Maybe you were," I said. "You lived in Trenton your entire life. You probably attended that parade every year. Why don't you make it part of your story?"

Her brow furrowed. "How?"

"If you don't have your own memories, you're welcome to borrow mine," I said. "Tell me your version."

"I don't think-"

"Give it a go."

She sighed and scrunched up her face, her eyes squinting until they closed entirely. "A parade," she said. "A crowd. Thousands of people."

"That's not how you tell a story, Babe," I interrupted.

In response, she frowned even more. "It was hot," she said. "Not a cloud in the sky. The sun was constantly beaming straight in my face, and I wanted to close my eyes against it, but I also didn't want to miss a second of the parade. I wore my best church dress, and shoes and a pair of those socks with the frills around the ankles. The crown on my head kept slipping to the side and I knew I had to sit still and straight or it would slip straight off and roll off the float. I concentrated on waving and imitating the queen of England as the thousands of faces passed by me."

I found it hard to keep my eyes off her as she described the day so perfectly. It was a good thing there was no traffic on the back roads I'd decided to take in order to prolong the journey and give her time to prepare herself.

"But then this boy caught my eye," she continued, the creases in her forehead smoothing out some. "Running down the wrong side of the barrier. He was thin, and a little dirty, and he was dodging guards left and right trying to reach my float. He waved his arms about, and called out my name, and I couldn't believe this boy was so excited to see me sitting on a silly chair. I tried not smile. I tried to keep my expression serious like my sister had told me to do, but I smiled. And…" she paused, when I looked over at her again the frown was back, but her eyes were open. "And then he bowed."

My eyebrows shot up before I could stop them. "I didn't tell you that," I said, pulling into a side street and finding a park.

"You didn't have to," she said slowly, staring at me in wonder. "I remember. I was the little girl on the float. I was _Little Miss Tasty Pastry._ I was so proud of that title. I wore the sash every day for the next two weeks. And you… you were the boy. You were my number one fan. You were-" she cut herself off then, her eyes widening even more. "Ranger."

I gasped. I hadn't told her my street name. She hadn't known me as anything other than Carlos Manoso in the last two months. "Babe?"

"Ranger," she said more firmly. " _Ranger_."

"Steph?" My heart was beating faster than it had when I'd been chased through the jungle by savages.

"You're Ranger," she stated. "I remember you. We met at a café and you had half a grapefruit."

I hadn't told her that either. "You remember," I grinned.

"Not everything," she said slowly. "Just… I remember you. I remember you helping me. I remember you teaching me. And I remember you…" a blush rose on her cheeks and I could only guess what she was remembering. "I remember _you_ ," she repeated firmly.

"Babe."

 _ **The End**_


	2. Chapter 2

_So, clearly, this turned out to be not a one shot. It will, however be a very slow progressing story, so I wouldn't hold your breath between chapters._

 **Chapter 2**

 **Lester's POV**

I watched on the monitor as Ranger's SUV pulled into the underground parking garage, holding my breath as he cut off the engine and opened his door. He stepped out of the vehicle, rolling his shoulders lightly to readjust his posture after the drive, but the moment the passenger side door opened my attention was caught. Waiting. Ranger leaned down and said something to his travel buddy through the car before straightening once more and closing his door. I was vaguely aware of his progress to the back of the car, but as a hand appeared from within the car and gripped the top of the passenger door, I sat up a little straighter. Seconds passed. My chest began to protest the lack of oxygen flowing through it as I continued to hold my breath hostage. Then, finally, a shock of curly hair appeared, followed by a woman who was undoubtedly Stephanie Plum.

The air whooshed from my lungs.

"It's really her," Bobby breathed beside me.

"She looks good, right?" I asked.

"Her hair is shorter."

"Yeah. But her figure is good."

As we watched, she closed the door she'd just emerged from, turning a full three hundred and sixty degrees to take in her surroundings. I could only imagine what it was like for her to be stepping into the garage for what feels like the first time, seeing all those black SUVs lined up in rows. It's a lot to take in when you're not expecting it, and given that the Stephanie Plum that we were watching at the moment apparently didn't have any recollection of Rangeman and our infamous black on black on black theme (modelled after the Men in Black, or perhaps modern day Batman), it had to be a little confronting.

"Why don't we have audio on the garage?" Bobby asked, leaning across to fiddle with the settings before making a frustrated noise and sitting back in his seat, arms crossed.

"Because it would be useless," Cal pointed out from my other side. He was _actually_ watching the monitors, rather than just spying on Steph and Ranger. Bobby and I had been staked out at the monitors desk for an hour now, unwilling to miss the moment they arrived. We would have done so in Tank's office on his private computer – the only other system to have access to the live feeds apart from Ranger's devices and the screens before us – but he took one look at us when we appeared in his doorway and straight armed us back out, stating that he didn't have time for our bullshit today.

To be fair, he doesn't have time for our bullshit most days. So Bobby and I are quite used to resorting to Plan B. In this case, Plan B involved dragging our office chairs out of our cubicles, and shoving Cal and Jennings over so that Bobby wasn't blocking the corridor. Ranger would probably have a fit if he found out that we were distracting the monitor guys, but I figured the benefits far outweighed the risks at this point. Besides, it's not like Bobby and I were supposed to be working right now. Our shifts ended over an hour ago. We were just hanging around for that first glimpse of the woman Ranger was bringing back from Miami.

He'd been at the Miami office for a couple of months, overseeing the investigation into a major security breech at a high profile client's company. Somehow the breech had been missed for several days and was causing havoc on the internals, leaking information and generally gumming up the works. Ranger had gone down to personally see to it that issue was cleared up. We'd expected him back a few weeks ago. I guess now we knew why he hadn't high tailed it back up here once the job was cleared.

"Ninety percent of the recording would be engines revving," Jennings added. "It's easier to just have you sit there and make car noises."

I tossed Jennings an appreciative grin. He may have only been new, but he definitely understood how I operated. "Good one."

Bobby let out another frustrated sigh. "I wanna know what they're saying," he whined.

"We all wanna know what they're saying," Cal agreed.

"It they ever deigned to face the cameras I might consider calling Ghost over to lip read for us," I said, tilting my head to the side in a futile attempt to make the screen see around corners. Trust Ranger to keep his back to the cameras. He knew exactly where all of them were, and he never failed to hide his secrets by working his knowledge to his advantage. "We'll just have to wait for them to come upstairs."

And so, we watched as Ranger called the elevator and they both stepped on board. They stood further apart than I think they ever had before, keeping a sold ten inches between them at all times where in the past there would have been a maximum of six. Ranger's body language was relaxed like usual, standing solidly, but comfortably. Steph, on the other hand, was a bundle of nerves, arms crossed over her chest as she fiddled with the hem of her t-shirt sleeves, a small crease forming between her brows.

Ranger said something to her, and she shrugged, lowering her arms as she replied. His lips quirked in a smile and I had to suppress a lovesick sigh. They'd always been adorable together. There was no one who could bring out Ranger's more human side like Steph could. The last two years without her had been utterly painful for all of us. Getting Ranger to relax and have some fun was like pulling teeth, which, for obvious reasons, defeats the purpose of the exercise. Hopefully now that she was back, he'd start to loosen up a little more again. I missed my carefree cousin.

"Where are they going?" I asked Cal. "Are they going straight to the seventh floor?"

"Yes," Cal confirmed shortly.

"But why?" Bobby cried, throwing his hands in the air. "We haven't seen her in two years! We wanna see her! We wanna make sure she's okay! We wanna-"

"You _know_ why they're not coming here first," I pointed out.

He crossed his arms over his chest in a huff, the kind that made my stomach do a little flip. Every little action he made drove me to insanity, but I had to agree with him on this standpoint. I really would have liked to see Steph sooner rather than late, but Ranger was back in town to deal with a job, and if her memory was as bad as Tank made out dropping her off on the fifth floor to be baby sat by a large group of even larger men probably wasn't the best idea. It didn't matter that we loved her and would never do a thing to hurt her mentally or physically. The likelihood of her feeling comfortable with us all staring at her, especially knowing that we know her, but she doesn't know us, was slim to none.

*o*

"Well?" I demanded, trailing behind my cousin as he made his way from the elevator to his office. I was dying for a full explanation of what was going on here. He'd disappeared into his apartment with Steph for about ten minutes before re-emerging alone. I knew he needed to make is way across town to deal with the Jameson break in, but that didn't mean he couldn't do some explaining while he prepared.

"Well what?" Ranger replied, his mind clearly elsewhere.

"What's up with Bomber?!" Bobby insisted, sounding as frustrated as I felt as he too joined the procession down the hallway.

Ranger paused barely a second as he opened his office door to glance back at us, a deep furrow between his brow telling us more than he probably meant to. He was worried. "Tank assured me he would brief the company on Stephanie's status," he said shortly, turning away from us once again as he continued his pre-set flight path.

His mind was already on the job ahead of him, probably having compartmentalised Stephanie until he got back. It was how we'd all had to work during our years under the government's thumb. We'd been made to do unthinkable things in our lives, and having thoughts of home and family while you were following out those orders was sure to send you crazy. Likewise, thinking about your misdeeds once you were home wouldn't benefit you at all. That's what Ranger was doing here. Stephanie was upstairs in his apartment, safely squared away out of harm's way. The physical embodiment of a mental compartmentalisation.

Probably, my nagging him about Steph was opening up that mental door and letting his thoughts and feelings out when all he wanted, all he needed, to do was focus on getting through the job ahead of him. I couldn't suppress my curiosity for his sake, though.

"He did," I assured him, quick to ensure Tank didn't get his ass kicked for disobeying orders. That was the last thing I wanted to be the cause of, because if Tank got his ass kicked, he'd then turn around and kick _my_ ass. And I liked my ass unkicked. "The problem was, it wasn't very informative."

Nodding, Bobby added, "It consisted of exactly forty-five words, to be precise," and he proceeded to quote the big guy's briefing word for word: "Ranger is on his way back from Miami. He's bringing Stephanie Plum with him. She had no memory of her life before two years ago. Anyone pulls any funny shit and they'll find themselves in Bobby's office following an appointment with me in the gym."

"Frankly, it raised more questions than it answered" I said, stepping closer to the desk where Ranger was now rummaging through a pile of files. "Where has she been the last two years?"

"What happened to her after she left that building?" Bobby chimed in from right beside me.

"Why doesn't she remember anything?" I questioned.

"Does she have a head injury?" Bobby asked.

"How did you find her?"

"How long ago did you find her?"

"If she has no memories of her life, how did you convince her to come with you?"

"What-"

Bobby's latest question was cut off as Ranger slammed his hands down on the desk, glaring up at us with an uncharacteristically expressive face. The kind that usually sent those caught in its gaze packing. I'd been subjected to it a time or two before in my life, though, so I wasn't shitting my pants just yet. A little apprehensive, yes, but not so much that I'd lost control of my bowels.

"I. Don't. Know," he seethed, eyes flashing. "I don't know the answers to most of those questions, and I didn't have time to pass the ones I do know to Tank over the phone. I came back to deal with Jameson, so that's what I'm going to do. Right. Now." Tossing a glance to Bobby and then back to me, to make sure we were paying attention, he added, "I'll give a more thorough briefing of her circumstances at the morning meeting tomorrow." And with that, he turned on his heel, slamming down his blank masked as he did so, and marched back out of his office, leaving Bobby and I staring after him.

It wasn't often that Ranger showed any kind of emotion at all, least of all the kind of anger and frustration he'd just pegged at us. Whatever the full situation was with Steph, it couldn't be good, and it was obviously getting to him more than he liked if his temper tantrum just now was anything to go by.

"He's just stressed," Tank announced from the doorway. "And annoyed that Jameson won't talk to anyone but him. He'll be back to normal by the meeting tomorrow." And he too, was off down the hallway to accompany the boss and placate the client. And, most likely, ensure that Ranger didn't let his current mood get to him and start setting heads to roll.

"Why does it feel like Mom just told us to leave Dad alone after he got home from a long day at work?" I asked Bobby, crossing to the door. There was no reason for us to linger in the office. It held none of the answers we sought. And even if it did hold _some_ of the answers, literally everything was password protected. Ranger's secrets, and by extension, Steph's would have to remain for now.

"Probably because that's exactly what happened," Bobby replied, knocking my shoulder with his. "I hope they're not getting a divorce."

I grinned at him. "Nah," I said. "They're not even fighting. Dad's just under a lot of pressure at work."

"At least he brought us home a present from his trip this time," Bobby pointed out, matching my grin as we made our way back toward the command floor. "I mean, we're not allowed to play with it, or even look at it at the moment, but we got a present."

I couldn't help the laugh that escaped me. This was yet another reason I loved Bobby. He never hesitated to fully immerse himself in my bullshit. Most of our friends and colleagues would have rolled their eyes and told me to grow up when I implied that Tank and Ranger were our parents, but Bobby jumped on board without a second thought. "The wait will be worth it," I assured him. Waiting for Stephanie Plum was always worth it. There was never a dull moment when she was around. As evidenced by the fact that she hadn't even been back in the building for an hour and she already had Ranger out of sorts.

Actually, looking at it logically, Ranger had probably been out of sorts for the last few weeks. Ranger had never been very good at keeping his hands to himself, especially when it came to Steph, but if the short scene we'd been privileged enough to witness earlier in the garage and elevator were anything to go by Ranger had been working with his hands tied behind his back. No one liked that kind of handicap, especially my success driven cousin. He was probably chomping at the bit just to tuck a curl behind her ear.

"Race you back to the apartment," Bobby said, taking off at a sprint once we'd reached the end of the hall. I had to scramble to catch up, because Bobby, the cheating bastard, had already been accelerating as he laid down the challenge.

Even though I _could_ have jumped over the rail and overtaken him on the brief run down the stairs, I resisted. For several reasons. First, Bobby was a sore loser and if I beat him back he would mope for at least an hour, regardless of the fact that he'd cheated to begin with and any victory he managed should be null and void. Secondly, last tie I'd jumped the rail I'd rolled my ankle and Bobby had refused to treat it in house because it was 'my own stupid fault' and it 'served me right for being an idiot'. He'd made me visit a doctor's office, which he knew I didn't like. I wasn't quite as bad as Steph and her complete despise for medical practitioners, but I was in no way comfortable with people I don't know sticking things like needles into my body. And thirdly, if I overtook him, I would miss the opportunity to admire his ass on the way down the hall downstairs.

We were evenly matched in most areas, including a foot race, at least when one of us wasn't trying to perv on the other, so despite bobby's cheating and me deliberately slowing to watch the movement of his buns, we arrived at our apartment door at the same time.

"What do you suppose caused her memory loss?" Bobby asked, fobbing open the door while I checked myself for drool, proving that our minds had been in very different places during our race.

"Well, you're the doctor," I pointed out, following him in. "What's most likely?"

"I'm not a doctor," he reminded me. "I'm a medic. You know that. But there's a lot of different reasons a person can lose their memories. For it to not have come back after two years, though…"

I made a beeline for the kitchen, grabbing two bottles of water from the refrigerator and passing one to Bobby. "She hasn't been around anything or anyone familiar in that time," I said. "That wouldn't help the situation, right? A person would regain their memories quicker if they were around familiar things and people?"

Bobby shook his head slowly, sliding down into one of the chairs at the small round table. It was my night to cook, so he was settling in to keep me company, he would have offered to help if not for the fact that I was a Nazi in the kitchen. It was just one of the places we'd had to draw a line in the sand. Especially after a near miss with a paring knife when Bobby hadn't cut the carrots right. "Not necessarily," he said just as slowly as his movements. "Like I said, there's all sorts of reasons someone could lose their memories, and there's all sorts of reasons it could stay gone. Everything from injury to trauma. There's often no rhyme or reason to it."

I pulled out the ingredients I needed while he spoke, dividing my attention between his thoughts and our dinner. It always helped to distract my brain when trying to problem solve or think up new ideas. In school I was always the type of kid who had to be doodling in the margins of my notebook while the teacher lectured or I'd be staring out the window and not paying attention. Nothing had changed as I grew older. I still needed the distraction in order to concentrate, which was why I always brought a notepad and a pen to meetings - I'd perfected the art of making it look like I was taking notes. And it was why none of the other guys bothered waiting until they had my undivided attention before talking through whatever they'd come to me for. So long as I knew they were talking to me, I was processing.

"So list some possibilities," I requested. "Knowing Steph, what wold be most likely to cause her to lose her entire life?"

"See that's the tricky bit," Bobby said. "If it was just a few months or a couple of years that were missing, I' say it was some kind of mental trauma. She's in the firing line often enough and been through so much that it's not out of the question that the latest event – being whatever happened to he when she left that building to get the file from the car – pushed her over the edge and her brain called a lock down in the memory bank.

"But what happened?" I pressed, brandishing my knife in frustration. I loved a good mystery, but that didn't mean I was patient about finding out the answers.

"I don't know," Bobby sighed, leaning an elbow on the table, he was a deep thinker and judging by the crease forming between his brows, the inside of his head was a troubling place to be at the moment. "Whatever happened couldn't have been good."

I had to agree with him there. A grown woman didn't just disappear without a trace for two years, losing her memory somewhere along the way for happy, fun times. Whatever went down once she was out of view of the cameras was obviously nefarious. That, we had decided two years ago. The problem was, as time passed, we became less sure of our original assessments. What if she'd left deliberately? Well, if nothing else, the amnesia swept away some of my own doubts. The chances of Steph leaving us voluntarily – and let's be honest, why would she do that in the middle of a job, leaving behind every single one of her possessions, right down to her driver's licence? – and then having something happen that caused her to lose her memories were pretty slim.

"I guess we'll just have to wait until the morning meeting," I sighed. "Then we'll at least have more information."

"I hate that she's three floors away, after all this time, but she has no idea who we are," Bobby moaned. "I just wanna see her and make sure she's okay."

I nodded, scrapping all the vegetables I'd chopped into a pot. "Me too, man," I agreed. "But is there any way she could be anywhere near okay when she-"

My phone, sitting on the table next to Bobby now that I was off-duty and no longer required to be contactable, started ringing. I frowned. Bobby checked the read out and copied my expression. "Control room," he announced, holding out to me as I crossed the small kitchen to retrieve it. "Why would they be calling _you_?"

It wasn't the insult someone else might have interpreted it as. The facts were simple. I may be an essential part of the core team, but that didn't mean I was the go-to guy for anything in particular. If there were major, unresolvable issues, or matters where clients demanded to talk to whoever was in charge, they called Ranger. Matters of rostering and brute force were taken to Tank. Bobby was clearly the authority on anything medical. But me? I was the spare guy, able to step up and take the lead if necessary, but not in control of anything in particular on a regular basis that warranted off-duty phone calls.

"No idea," I said, slowly taking the device from Bobby's hand and swiping the appropriate icon in order to accept the call. "Yeah?"

"I thought you'd be interested to know," Cal stated efficiently, "that our guest on the seventh floor has ventured out into the building and is descending through the stairwell.

He was right. I _was_ interested to know, but now that I had the knowledge there was the question of what I was supposed to do with it. "Thanks," I told Cal, not waiting for anything else to be said before hanging up.

Stephanie Plum was loose in the building, probably giving in to her natural curiosity to explore. I had no idea what I should do about it, only what I _wanted_ to do about it. I wanted to see her, to prove to myself that she was real, that she was here. I wanted to look her in the eye and assess for myself whether she'd truly lost her entire memory, or whether it was a convenient excuse.

Shaking that last thought out of my head – there was no use being angry or bitter about that kind of thing when I'd done the same or similar in order to get by on government missions – I clipped my phone back to my belt and returned to the stove, turning off all the burners I'd been using.

"Les?" Bobby questioned, a note of worry vibrating in the undertone.

"Come on," I said, turning to face him once more. "Steph us up and about, so it's only right that we go introduce ourselves and offer a tour before some idiot newbie stumbles across her."

As I spoke, I made my way to the door, unsurprised when he followed. It never took much to convince people to move when Steph was the destination. There was a time when men would literally _race_ to her location after one of her patented disasters, just for the privilege of checking that she was all right. No men I knew of had every denied themselves the opportunity to bask in the glow of Steph's attention without an important reason to do so.

"How are we playing this?" Bobby asked as we passed through our apartment door and into the hallway. "Are we randomly coming across her in the stairwell?"

"That seems like the most logical plan," I agreed. "We don't want to scare her off by coming on too strong."

"Banal conversation?" he checked.

I nodded, opening the stairwell door and allowing him to enter ahead of me. "We should check his credit card history again," I said, pulling the door closed quietly. "And his wife's. There has to be something we're missing."

"I don't seen how rehashing what we already know is going to get us any closer to this guy," Bobby returned, shaking his head wearily, he was already halfway up the first set of stairs, eyes focused ahead of his journey, on the careful lookout for a certain curly hair occupant of the stairwell, while making it appear that he was no more alert to his surroundings than usual. "But I'm at a loss of what else to do at this point," he added. "If this undercover bit doesn't pan out, we'll be back at square one."

The suggestions of undercover work related to our fake case was genius, I acknowledged silently. It would give us a reason to continue upwards past the fifth floor if we didn't encounter Steph by then. The only reason any of us apart from Ranger usually had to travel that far up in the building was to visit Ella and Louis.

"Do you think Ella still has those cool orange Nikes?" I asked, skipping up a few steps so I was by his side once more. I didn't have to fake my enthusiasm for the neon footwear. The shoes were amazing, and I loved them almost as much as I loved Bobby. I'd made several offers to buy them from Ella over the last few months, each one declined with a twinkle in her eye and the tenuous excuse that she needed them for her collection or there would be a gap in her ability to provide appropriate attire for any occasion in any size.

Bobby, who had always preferred a more conservative look, was less motivated by the mention of the bright shoes. He thought they looked ridiculous. Their only worth found in the way they made me smile. At least, that's what I assumed from his adamant denial that they held any worth at all. He grunted out a discerning, "Let's hope not," rounding another corner and came to an abrupt halt. "Oh, hey," he said, leaving no doubt in my mind that we'd found Steph.

"Uh, hi," Steph's dulcet tone replied, sounding unsure of herself. "I was just, um…"

"Exploring?" I finished for her, coming to stand beside Bobby on the small landing, gazing up to the next where Steph stood, clutching the rail with white knuckles. "Can't blame you."

"Do you know who I am?" she asked, cocking her head to the side the way a puppy does when trying to understand its human's tone. She stared at us, hard, like she was trying to remember where she'd seen us before.

"You're Stephanie Plum," Bobby replied easily.

"Bombshell Bounty Hunter," I added, unable to help myself. It really was her. I had so many questions I wanted to ask her. Hell, I just wanted to pull her into a big bear hug to assure myself that she was whole, that she was real. But the way her brow creased when I added my two cents' worth t the conversation gave me pause. This was absolutely out Stephanie Plum, but that didn't change the fact the she had no memories of her life, and by extension, anyone in this building.

"Bombshell?" she asked, her hand twitching on the rail. "Ranger said I was a bounty hunter, but he never used the word 'bombshell'. Was that what you called me?"

Bobby shook his head. "It's a long story, and Lester shouldn't have brought it up," he said. "At least not until you got a chance to settle in and meet some people properly."

She rolled her eyes, and I wanted to with joy. I'd dreamed of seeing those baby blues rolling again. I felt like I needed to pinch myself. Surely she wasn't really here. Surely I'd fallen asleep in the break room and this was all some elaborate vision put together by my subconscious and spurred on by the pizza I'd eaten at lunch.

"I'm hardier than I look," she said, interrupting my thoughts as she started down the stairs toward us. "You have to be when every single thing in the world is unfamiliar. Otherwise you break."

I smiled, tamping down on the sadness her words caused to well up inside me. I hated that she'd had to go through whatever she'd gone through without the love and support of her family and friends. "No one would ever be stupid enough to call you weak, Beautiful," I said. "Bobby just mean that the story of your Bombshell title probably isn't the best introductory conversation."

"So Bobby and Lester?" she asked, coming to a stop on the final stair, which left her at eye level with us, as she indicated to each of us in turn. She nodded shortly, like she'd come to some conclusion. "Something tells me it's no coincidence that you came across me in this stairwell."

"It _is_ the only stairwell the building has," I pointed out, unfazed at being caught.

Bobby shrugged. "We do live _and_ work in this building," he added. "And most of the men _do_ tend to use the stairs more often than the elevator. You were bound to come across _someone_ if you continued your descent. Why shouldn't it be us?"

She narrowed her eyes at us, and God, even that suspicious expression on her face was like a breath of fresh air. "How did you know I was in the stairwell?" she asked.

I couldn't help the laugh that escaped me. The old Stephanie, the one who had all her memories, wouldn't have had to ask such a question. She had enough experience with how Rangeman worked to realise that there were very few moments when we were unable to pinpoint her exact location. Within the building, there were monitored security cameras covering practically every inch. Outside of the building, Ranger had had always ensured, even from the earliest days, to plant trackers on her and her vehicles. Clearly, there were flaws in the system. Otherwise she wouldn't have been able to disappear without a trace two years ago, but now that we had her back, Ranger would already have taken steps to make sure she never disappeared again.

"What" Steph demanded, crossing her arms over her chest. "What's so funny?"

"Do you know where you are?" I asked, rather than give a straight answer.

Steph scrunched up her face. "Trenton," she said. "I have long term memory loss, I'm not an idiot."

I shook my head. "I meant a little more specific than that," I said. "Do you know what building you're in?"

Still scowling at me, she replied, "Rangeman. It's a security company that Ranger owns."

"Correct," I nodded, smiling despite her still sour expression. I tried to recall if she was this hostile towards me when we first met, but I'm pretty sure she was more doe-eyed back then, staring with wide eyes and slack jaw at all the fire power and muscles. She was a disillusioned girl from the Burg and we were so far beyond the ideals that had been forced into her head her entire life. Now, though, she may not have those memories of her life, but from what I'd seen of her in this short interaction so far she was still the tough cookie we'd helped shape her into. Only time would tell if she was more or less trusting than before. Speaking of which, I asked, "As a security company, don't you think we would keep our own building under surveillance?"

Her shoulders slumped a little. "You saw me on the cameras?"

"No, actually," Bobby interjected, probably taking over our half of the conversation so that I couldn't inspire any more ire from this familiar stranger. It was a smart move. I'd already proven that I'm quite good at sticking my foot in it. Bobby, on the other hand, had a way of making people feel more at ease in his presence, no matter what he was saying to them. This was evidenced by the fact that he was the only one, apart from Ranger, who had ever successfully convinced Steph to go to the hospital. "We were in our apartment cooking dinner and received a call from the control room informing us that you were prowling about."

Sometimes, when Steph was caught snooping in the past, she would blush and stammer out some excuse or apology, but not today. Instead she lifted her chin, shrugged, and stepped off the bottom stair. "Was I not supposed to?" she asked. "Is there something in the building that you're afraid I'll find?"

"Of course not," Bobby and I chimed in automatic unison.

There was nothing for us to hide. Somewhere inside her head, she already knew way more secrets about this place than any other woman alive. She had a way of sticking her nose in people's business and disarming their defences. She would have been great at interrogations with a little training. And maybe she still could be. Even if she didn't regain her memories, this version of Steph seemed forward enough to catch people off guard.

She travelled her gaze from me to Bobby slowly, head tilted up slightly now that we were all on level ground. "You're very quick to deny," she stated, crossing her arms over her chest. "In my experienced, that kind of speed usually means you're lying, or hiding something."

"Would you like a tour?" I offered, spreading my arms out to the side in an attempt to prove we weren't being deceitful.

"Of the stairwell?" she scoffed. "No thanks. If you've seen one stairwell, you've seen them all. Take me to this control room you mentioned."

I glanced to Bobby, who didn't even bother returning the look. He just shrugged, pulled out his phone and stepped toward the door that would lead on to the fifth floor. "Sure," he said easily. "Why not? Let me just text Ranger to let him know what we're doing."

Interestingly, Steph's eyes widened slightly as she jerked her head towards Bobby's new position. "Why?" she demanded.

Bobby turned back slowly, alerted, as I was, by the change in her tone and overall demeanour. She'd been cool, calm and collected before, but now she sounded a touch concerned. "Well, I assume he expected you would remain in his apartment at least until he got back from the job," Bobby said cautiously, aware that one misplaced word could send her running in this state. "He'll want to know if you're wandering about."

"He trusts me," she said, almost defiantly.

"That's true," I agreed easily. "But he's also worried about you. He's always looked out for your best interests, but from what I can tell, your current condition has him at a loss for what he can do to help you."

Bobby nodded. "Not being able to find you when you disappeared and then finally locating you only to find out that you're-"

"Damaged?" she interrupted.

I gave her a look. "Come on, beautiful, you know that's not what we mean."

Bobby, who had finished typing out a text to Ranger, but not yet his send, held it out for Steph to read over. "I'm just letting him know that you're out and about," he reiterated. "And if you're still concerned that we're doing anything untoward, you can call him. He's on a job, but I'm sure he's set your number to a specialised ringtone by now. He'll answer if he's not getting shot at, which he shouldn't be."

"He'll probably answer even if he _is_ getting shot at," I pointed out. Because let's be honest, anger was a lot less cautious with his own life when Steph was in need. Hence, how Steph came to discover the Rangeman building.

Grimacing, Steph reached into the pocket of her jeans and pulled out her phone, dialling Ranger. Our theory was proven correct when she started speaking after what could only have been one or two rings. "I'm fine," she replied to his answering question. "I just wanted to let you know that Bobby and Lester are taking me on a tour of the building." She paused a moment, then spoke again. "You never said I had to stay in the apartment, and I got bored, so I went for a walk." A smile played on her lips as she glanced toward Bobby and me again. "Apparently, the control room called them when they saw me on the security feed." Another pause. "I'll be fine. How scary could it be when I've survived two whole years without a single memory from before?" And then she hung up, looking between us expectantly. "Well?" she prompted impatiently. "Let's go."

*o*

I have no idea how Steph felt as we guided her through the command centre, but it was surreal for me. Everywhere I looked there were familiar things that held memories I shared with the woman beside me. Some small, like the little finger wave she would five to the men on the monitors whenever she stepped off the elevator, or the paper airplane notes she'd once tried to send me when she'd sprained her ankle and Bobby wouldn't let her leave her desk until he had a chance to look at it but was constantly being called away from the building. The planes never made it to me. They ended up on the floor a metre away from where I'd sat watching the security feeds. Some memories were bigger, like the Nerf war she'd instigated during a snow storm when we were all on lock down and going stir crazy. Or the time she passed out just after stepping out of the stairwell and freaked everyone out.

The first step was, logically, the bank of monitors. We paused just to the side so that Steph could see that there were split screens showing a variety of buildings that Rangeman provided security for, including its own. "This is Cal," I introduced, slapping my hand on the man's shoulder. "He's smarter than he looks."

"Hey!" Cal protested, but Jenning's snickered.

"Cal," I added, before he had more of a chance to argue. "You know Stephanie Plum."

"Of course," he said, his frown turning into a rare smile as he turned to face us. "Who could forget the great Stephanie Plum?"

Steph shrugged, seemingly at ease with this situation. "Well, I forgot all of you," she stated. "So it's not entirely out of the question."

Eventually, after greeting everyone still on shift on the fourth floor, we ended up in the break room, Bobby and I stood by the door, watching as Steph examined the wall of photos she'd been instrumental in erecting four years ago. At first, she was just browsing, as one would the tasting menu at a restaurant, but then she was picking out faces she'd met on the way there. Cal, and Bones, along with Bobby and myself. Even Jennings made it into a couple of the newer ones around the edges.

"Who's this?" she asked, pointing to one of the central photos and leaning in closer to examine it. "He feels… familiar…"

Bobby snorted. "He should," he said, stepping up beside her. "When you first stared skip tracing and were getting yourself into trouble, Hal was assigned to you on what you referred to not-so- affectionately as baby-sitting detail.

We may have met you first," I added, coming up on her other side and pointing to the selfie I'd taken that night of myself, Bobby, Tank and Ranger armed to the teeth with a doe-eyed Steph looking like her brain was in the middle of fight or flight decision. "But he got to know you better – quicker – through sheer number of encounters."

"It's quite unfair, to be honest," Bobby said.

"Which is part of the reason we're determined to get to know you first this time around," I added, pointing to a photo of us all from a raucous movie night. "That's at least one silver lining to you having amnesia."

Thankfully, this caused Steph to laugh. That proved that she had a sense of humour about her condition, which meant our Steph – the one with all her memories of us all – was still in there somewhere. We just had to find her hiding place and coax her out, maybe pick a lock or two to free her.

"Will you tell me about these guys?" she requested, waving a hand at the world as she turned to eye us both in turn, hope and apprehension clear in her gaze.

"Will you tell us about how you came to lose you memories?" Bobby countered.

She frowned. "Ranger said he told Tank and that Tank would fill you all in," she said.

"The term," I explained, crossing my arms over my chest, "Is 'brief'. Ranger told Tank to 'brief' us. And he did. It was very brief."

"Less than fifty words, to be exact," Bobby added bitterly.

"More of a warning than a relaying of information."

Her frown deepened, "How much do you know, then?"

Bobby shrugged, examining the photos for himself, probably in an attempt to not get frustrated. Given the medical nature of this particular mystery, it was probably eating at him. He'd always been there whenever Steph needed him – hell, we all had – but if she'd experienced something, an injury or traumatic event, that caused her to lose her memories and we weren't there to help, he was probably dying a little on the inside. He took his job very seriously. "Just that you have no memory before two years ago, and that if we pull any funny business we'll be pummelled in the gym tomorrow."

The sound that escaped Steph could only be described as a horrified hiss. And while I'm can't guarantee that the old Steph wouldn't be horrified at the idea of any of us being physically beaten for our antics, the fact that she was _so_ horrified by the idea proved that she didn't remember how things worked around here.

"Don't worry," I said, flippantly. "That's a usual punishment. Most people would call it intense sparring. It works for us because it lets both parties get to work their frustrations out physically."

"Anyway," Bobby took over, and I could hear that he was slightly calmer now, having had a moment to tamp down his own frustrations with the situation. "Ranger said he'd explain the full situation at the morning meeting tomorrow."

"Will you be joining us for that meeting?" I asked.

Steph screwed up her face and shrugged. "This is the first I'm hearing of a meeting," she explained. "I guess Ranger doesn't want me there."

"That's bullshit," I said before I could stamp down the impulse. If Ranger was planning on hiding Steph away in his tower for the duration of her time in Trenton, then what was the point of bringing her back in the first place? His selfishness wold not be tolerated. We'd _all_ been devastated when we couldn't find her. We'd _all_ deserved to have the opportunity to interact with her and gain some kind of closure. "The meetings going to be predominantly about _you,"_ I pointed out. "Excluding you would be stupid. No one else knows your situation as well as you do. Not even Ranger. Just because he's –"

"How long has he, uh, been in contact with you?" Bobby asked, interrupting my rant. It was probably a good thing he did, because my comments would probably have turned less than flattering had I been allowed to continue.

"About six weeks?" Steph replied. "He saw me when I was on my way to work one day, and asked me out. I figured out pretty fast that he knew me, he offered to tell me about my past, and he has. He's been helping me study up."

I almost gagged. "Studying?" I said. "Gross. Nothing beats practical knowledge. Unless he's going to make you pass some written test." My eyes widened. "He's not gonna make you prove your theoretical knowledge before you're allowed to visit anyone, is he?"

She laughed, and once again, my heart melted. She was most beautiful when she laughed. Don't get me wrong, there were very few situations where I didn't consider her as beautiful, but laughter seemed to enhance her natural features. Her laugh made everything around her seem dull. "If I have to pass a test before meeting anyone else, I think I may as well go back to Miami right now. The information doesn't really stick. I can do names, and maybe relationships of a few, but anything else is a jumble of useless information in my head."

"What about Merry Men?" Bobby asked.

"You mean, like, Robin Hood's bandits?" she asked, raising her eyebrows. "Why would I need to know their names? Do they even have names?"

He shook his head. "The Merry Men is what you called everyone who works for Rangeman who isn't Ranger," he explained. "All these guys," he added, gesturing to the wall of photos in front of us.

Steph sagged, her shoulders slumping and a crease forming between her brows. It was the saddest I'd seen her since her return, which wasn't saying much, since she'd only returned about an hour and a half ago, but it still pulled my heartstrings. I'd never been able to sit back and let herwallow. I had to do something to help her.

"What's wrong?" I asked, wrapping my arm around her shoulders and pulling her towards me for a sideways hug, performing a small, mental victory dance when she didn't pull away or protest in any way.

"How do you become the person you've forgotten you ever were?" she asked, and if I wasn't mistaken, she was on the verge of tears. We needed to take evasive action. We were sensitive guys and had learned the best way to deal with Steph's tears over the years, but the best way was to avoid the inevitability.

"What do you mean?" Bobby asked.

She sighed. "I mean, this Stephanie Plum person that I supposedly am sounds great, and you guys obviously liked her, but I don't know how to _be_ her. I've spent the last two years being Jane Smith and-"

"How original?" I deadpanned.

Her fist connected with my side, hard, but I made an effort not to show any reaction. "I know," she said, sounding resigned. "But it's who I know how to be. Jane Smith doesn't have to live up to anyone's expectations, because Jane Smith doesn't have a past. She has one roommate, a few work colleagues, and some doctors. That's it. Stephanie Plum, though, has a whole life that I don't really know about. Stephanie Plum is a mystery."

"Then let's de-mystify her a little," I suggested, dragging her over to the couch and pushing her down into it. "Tank a deep breath," I said. "Close your eyes and imagine another time, another world."

She did as I instructed, relaxing back into the cushions and tipping her head back. This was a good sign. It meant she was starting to trust us more, but knowing Steph, if we were quiet for more than a couple of moments, she'd likely fall asleep. We had to act fast.

"You were born in the Burg," I began.

"The Burg?" she questioned, cracking open one eye to look at me. "What's that?"

 _Seriously, Ranger?_ I thought. _You didn't cover things like the Burg in your secret little study sessions?_

"Chambersburg," Bobby elaborated. "A tight-knit neighbourhood about fifteen minutes away."

"You went to etiquette classes when you were young," I went on.

She snorted, eyes closed again. "Etiquette classes?" she said incredulously. "Me?"

"It was your mother's doing," Bobby explained. "A way to try to tame you."

Her eyebrows rose, eyes snapping open once more, and I used that as an opportunity to continue on a slightly different path. She didn't need to know what she'd done, or what her mother had made her do. She needed to know what _she_ was like.

"You threw tantrums and terrorised your mother," I said.

"Legend has it that the whole neighbourhood shook when you and your mother fought," Bobby added, and I could have sworn the slight change in his expression was pride showing through.

"Charming child," I smiled, perching on the edge of the of the coffee table.

Bobby sat next to Steph on the couch. "Wrote the book," I said nonchalantly. "But you'd behave when your father gave that look." He turned to me, imitating the look every protective father has given his favourite daughter. "You know the one?"

I returned the look, but was unable to hold it. It felt ridiculous. I was definitely not father material. "You do it better than me," I pointed out, raising an eyebrow. "You don't have a secret kid you haven't told me about, do you?"

Bobby laughed, shaking his head, but turned his attention back towards Steph. "Little does he know that _he_ is the child I need to keep in check," he said in a stage whisper.

"Your secret is safe with me," Steph said, nodding solemnly, a twinkle in her eye.

"Right," I burst, standing abruptly, energy surging through me. "We have a lot to cover and not much time." They both looked at me like I was insane, which was probably not far off, but until the head-shrinkers made an official diagnosis to that end, I was inclined to ignore them. "Okay," I conceded. "So we have some time. I'm just excited, okay? So sue me."

Bobby shook his head and gave Steph a meaningful look. "See what I mean?"

"Come one," I said, ignoring them both. "Let's see you walk." Pulling Steph to her feet, I set her upright next to the wall and squeezed her shoulders. "Head up," I instructed. "Regal bearing."

"Regal?" Bobby snorted.

"Hush," I snapped. "I'd like to see you instruct someone how to adjust their gait."

"Is this really necessary?" Steph asked.

"You wanted our help learning how to be Stephanie Plum," I pointed out. "It's more than just knowing people. Now shoulders back, stand up tall and don't walk-"

"You want her to walk, but not walk?" Bobby questioned. "How is she supposed to do that?"

"Try to float," I said, giving them an example.

Steph attempted to imitate my walk, but she must not have gotten all the key points I'd given her. "I feel a little foolish," she said. "Am I floating? Is this what floating looks like?"

"More like a sinking boat," Bobby deadpanned. "She walks fine, Lester. You're making this more complicated than it needs to be."

"If I can learn to do it, so can she," I argued.

"I don't think I need to learn how to walk right now," Steph said slowly. "I've had enough lessons to last a lifetime."

Bobby gave me the same look he'd given me just before when we were talking about Steph's Dad and like a good daughter knows when to stop fighting and start following directions, I gave a slight nod, agreeing to let the walk go for now. It's not my fault I liked watching the way her hair bobbed and hips swayed when she walked.

"Let's see what you know, then," Bobby suggested, making his way over to the kitchenette where he retrieved three banana muffins, tossing one to each of us. "Who's your mother?"

"Helen Plum," she recited.

"Your grandmother?" I asked.

"Uhhhh, Edna Mazur!"

"Your best friend?"

She looked between us, her brows shuffling closer together, as if trying to discuss their answer before her mouth made a move. "Mary-Lou," she said confidently.

"Wrong," I announced, making a buzzer sound. "It's actually me."

Her eyes narrowed. "I know who my best friend is."

"Okay," I said slowly, dragging her back over to the photo wall. "You seem to have a grasp on your personal life, but I don't know why Ranger would leave something as vital as us out of your six weeks of study."

She shrugged. "We touched on it briefly, but I think he thought it was more important to remember my family."

"Right," I stated. "Well, let's get started on Essential Rangeman Employees 101." I took a moment to scan the wall, looking for the right faces to point out. She knew all of them in the past, but there were some that she was closer to than others. "Okay, here's Hank. He's one of our tech guys. You and he were once chased by swans at the park while trailing a skip."

"Cover blown," Bobby intoned.

"Oh," Steph breathed.

"This is Rodriguez," Bobby went on, pointing to another photo. "Loves his vodka. He once challenged Ghost to drink for drink with him and held up pretty well until Ghost insisted on a glass of champagne."

"Got it?" I asked, gauging her reaction to the information. She looked a little bug eyed.

"No…" she replied. "I… this is not the kind of information Ranger was giving me…"

I nodded. "Probably because he didn't want to scare you off."

"Huh."

Bobby seemed unfazed by how she was taking I all, but then again he was the master of stealth and multitasking. He could be having a full on conversation with one person, while listening in on another conversation. Never missing a beat. And he could recite whole statements from both conversations word for word. He was a freak of nature, but it came in hand. Probably, he would tell me a bunch of insights about Steph's mental health state later, for now though, he was prepared to keep telling her about our colleagues.

"Hector here is the shortest man we've got," he explained, gesturing to a photo of the tech genius standing on a table. "Shorter than you."

I found another photo, one with Binkie front and centre. "Binkie has a wart on his neck that looks like a grumpy old man."

"Zero wore a hat entirely made out of feathers for a whole week to prove that no one ever notices him."

"Did they?" Steph asked.

"No," I confirmed. "No one noticed the hat. They _did_ however asked if he'd put on weight."

"Here's Tank," Bobby said, switching topics again.

"Oh!" she cried. "He has a yellow cat!"

"I didn't tell her that," I said, holding up my hands in surrender as Bobby's eyes cut to me, brows raised.

"Neither did I," Bobby said. "Did Ranger?"

Steph shook her head. "No, I just had a feeling." She looked between us, then back to the photo. " _Does_ he have a yellow cat?"

"The yellow cat is named Romeo," I said, still marvelling over the fact that she'd apparently managed to recall something. Small though the detail may be, progress was still progress. "And it took a real liking to your when you cat-sat for Tank one time. Tank still refers to him as a traitor for liking you so much."

"Romeo doesn't like anyone," Bobby added. "Barely tolerates Tank."

Steph blew out a stunned breath. "That's two things I've remembered in one day," she said. "I've been in New Jersey less than four hours and I've already remembered more details from my life than I have in the past two years."

"Two memories?" Bobby questioned.

"Yeah, in the car on the way from the airport, Ranger was telling me about this parade and a girl on a float when he was a kid. I realised that he was talking about me. I remembered the parade, and then I kinda got flashes of other events involving Ranger, like meeting at a café, him finding me locked in a cabinet, crying on his shoulder at a funeral, and um… kissing. A lot of kissing, actually. Like, a disproportionate amount of kissing."

"Well, that makes sense," I said. "You and Ranger did a hell of a lot of sneaking away to make out."

"Really?"

I nodded in answer, unsure if I'd said too much already, and unwilling to cause her to leave prematurely.

"Were we… a couple?" she asked hesitantly.

Bobby fielded that question before I had a chance to open my mouth and sprout a bunch of innuendos by accident and scare her off. We hadn't quite secured her renewed friendship yet, and until such a time as she confirmed her willingness to stick around, we had to convince her – again – that we weren't a threat to her safety or sanity. "Things between you and Ranger were complicated to say the least," Bobby explained. "But no one can deny the attraction between you both."

"That wasn't a yes or no," she pointed out, crossing her arms and frowning at him. "You didn't answer my question."

"There's only one person who can answer that question correctly," he said.

"Well, maybe two," I added. "But with your memory the way it is…"

"Do you know when Ranger will be back?"

I shrugged, resuming my position on the coffee table. "Hard to say. It all depends on the client."

"The client was easily dealt with once he realised I wasn't going to cop the blame for his mistakes," Ranger's voice announced from the doorway, causing all of us – not just Steph – to jump clear out of our skins. "What nonsense are these two idiots filling your head with?"

"Ranger!" Steph exclaimed, seeming unconcerned by the fact that he'd just insulted her two newest friends. "Come see what I've learned!" And without waiting to see if he obeyed, she turned back to photo wall, scanning it once again. "Bobby and Lester have been teaching me about the, what do I call them? Merry Men?" She glanced over to catch my nod of confirmation, checked that Ranger had approached the wall; Tank following close behind, and just started rattling off information, like when she was explaining an intricate gossip web that would supposedly help our case, gesturing to each relevant photo in turn. "The swan that chased, the vodka race, the champagne cap, the feathered hat, the tech guy's short, the neck, a wart, they yellow cat named Romeo."

"Ha!" The sound burst out of me before I had a chance to acknowledge the pride that had welled with every piece of information she threw out there.

"Impressive," Ranger nodded, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her close to her side.

"I see you told her about the feline traitor," Tank intoned, sounding slightly dangerous.

I help up my hands grinning as I attempted a surrender. "She brought it up, man," I said. "We pointed out your photo and she suddenly proclaimed that you had a yellow cat."

"So you remembered Tank's cat, but not Tank?" Ranger asked Steph.

"Baby steps, right?" she asked, wincing apologetically at Tank. "I'd like to see Romeo some time?"

"I'm sure you would," Tank said, sending her a small smile of reassurance. "And Romeo would be over the moon. He's been insufferable."

"The cat visits will have to wait for another time, though," Ranger said. "Since Steph is so keen on integrating herself back into Rangeman I brought the meeting forward. Conference Two in twenty minutes."

* * *

 _ **Because of being away last weekend, and this coming weekend, I probably won't be getting a chapter of Over Your Head out this week. I haven't written it yet. I will endeavour to write between performances at the eisteddfod this weekend, though. Everyone have a great Easter.**_


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